


Tadpoles

by Saltylocks



Series: Salty + Sherlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sherlock, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Belly Kink, Biology Inaccuracies, Blow Jobs, Breeding, Come Inflation, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Cute Kids, Emetophilia, Everyone Is Gay, Freeform, How Do I Tag, Human John, Inflation, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Just "many", Kidnapping, Lesbian Character, Lots of children, Lube, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Mind Control, Mpreg, No specific number, Object Insertion, One Night Stands, Psychic Abilities, Rage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tags Are Hard, Telepathy, Urethral Play, Violence, Weird Biology, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltylocks/pseuds/Saltylocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is back from Afghanistan and Mike takes him out to a bar, where he lock eyes with a certain dark haired bartender...</p>
<p>*Please read the tags!*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Being John

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, 
> 
> so, yeah, this might not be for everyone, so read the tags, and tell me if there are other things I could tag this with :)
> 
> (who am I kidding, you got this far, you might as well read it!)
> 
> This story was inspired by aliens, a weird and interesting frog documentary by David Attenborough, gastric-brooding frogs (unfortunately extinct) and crocodiles/alligators carrying their children in their mouths. If you want to know more, google it. 
> 
> It's also very loosely based on BBC's Sherlock and it's characters, though it's probably possible to insert any other OTP into this with very few changes.
> 
> Have fun, and please, lower your expectations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange things always happen to John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry(not sorry).

“John! John Watson!”

Mike Stamford waved him over to the table he was occupying.

“Back from the war,” he said, wrapping his arms around the smaller, stiff man. “How are you?”

John let himself relax a little in his friend’s embrace.

“I’m fine,” he assured him. “Been back quite a while, sorry I didn’t call before now.”

“It’s alright, I suppose you’d had to adapt somewhat.”

“Yeah,” John said, sitting up on one of the bar stools. “So, this place is new, right?”

“Yes, they changed owners, kicked out all the old staff and redid the whole thing. Probably for the better, too.”

"Right," John said.

There was a moment of silence.

“I’ll get us some pints, alright?” Mike said.

“Sure, but next round’s on me.”

He watched his friend saunter off to the bar and call for attention. The tall bartender, busy hanging up glasses, moved closer, and John felt a flutter in his stomach as the man looked towards their table. He had the greenest eyes John had ever seen, and the man’s lips turned upwards into a small smile as he picked up two glasses from behind himself, making small talk with Stamford but rarely taking his eyes off John. 

Mike seemed to know the guy, apparently the owner of the bar, as John learned at his friend’s return. His name was Sherlock Holmes, hence the name of the bar, Sherlock’s. John couldn’t help but ask about him, and Stamford only seemed happy the awkward silence was gone. Yes, Sherlock was a weird name, but it suited him as he was a weird man, all angles, into micro brewing, kind of a hipster. Mike had heard he was also into recreational drug use, used to play base in a band, that sort of fellow. John barely listened as he took a swig from his pint. Their conversation turned to other matters but he couldn’t help but glance over at the bartender sometimes, and every time he did, the other looked up too, and winked. Mike left at closing time, and maybe John should have left too, but he felt like he had forgotten something and went back, only to bring the green eyed man with him home as well. 

In the morning, John wasn’t sure how it had happened that such a gorgeous man would have come back to his flat in the first place, but he had zero regrets about it. Thinking back he blushed at how wonderful it had felt, his skin against his skin, those green eyes almost translucent in the low lights from outside, the soft lush lips kissing him everywhere, his big skilled hands, his soft, dark hair in John’s face, tickling him ... Rising as the sun started to peek through the blinds, he noticed some greenish stains on the sheets, as well as on his skin. Showering, he wondered if there would be any side effects to it. John could not remember bringing home anyone like that before. He felt fine though, relaxed and alert all at once, so it couldn’t be that bad. He should probably avoid that bar for a while though. His stomach rumbled and after putting the sheets in the washer, he ate, thinking back on the night before and blushing again. His stomach felt a little weird when he had eaten, sort of bloated and rumbly, but it hadn’t been the same after Afghanistan anyway, so he didn't find it that odd. 

~ooo~

The next morning, John woke and felt more rested than ever before. His stomach still felt bloated so he skipped breakfast, just drinking some coffee, and kept it up for the next week of work, a little worried he had caught something, maybe at the bar, or after, from... Still, he felt fine, so he didn’t call in sick from the practice, too many people relying on him, and he felt full of energy and in control, so why worry about it? His receptionist Diane even commented on how healthy he looked, asking if he had changed his diet or something, so John decided to not pay too much attention to it.

~ooo~

About two weeks after the one night stand, John was at work, finishing up some paperwork. Standing up to leave and have some lunch, he felt a little churn in his abdomen. Hugging himself he let out a small gasp. John looked down at himself, his stomach rumbling, straining against his belt. Touching his skin, it felt squishy and hot. 

“Diane,” he called out to his secretary, “cancel all my appointments for the afternoon.”

“You’re not feeling well, doctor Watson?” 

“I just need to lay down for a bit I think, maybe a good night’s sleep,” he assured her, clutching his stomach.

On the bus home, John had to press his legs together tightly, as he could feel the churning inside him pressing downwards, like water. Maybe he had been poisoned? Sweating buckets and grabbing himself trying to not let anything out, he was thankful the bus was almost empty. He left a small greenish stain on the seat as he got off a couple of feet from his apartment door, but he couldn’t be bothered, his abdomen starting to hurt even more now. 

John felt light headed and undressed as he walk through the apartment, feeling slightly nauseous and not at all well. He stopped in front of the bedroom mirror, his face paling in shock, poking his big, bloated belly. Right then, yes, he definitely felt something moving inside, not just churn, but twist in the liquid. John spread his legs in front of the mirror, curious despite the pain, needing to bear witness to whatever this was. His genitals sensitive and red, he bent over and relaxed. The liquid rushed out of him as he let go, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip and moan with some of the pressure gone. The liquid coming out of him was greenish and clear. The mirror glass felt cool and he pressed his head against it, breathing for a while. He reached back to feel himself, his asshole protruding somewhat, and he stood up to get a better angle. He had made a mess, green running down his legs and down into the carpet, but he forgot all about it the next moment, because something was turning again, deep inside of him. Looking down, John could see the skin on his abdomen protrude, making his belly distended and big, and it felt like it was moving, looking for a way out. He had never seen anything like it. Breathing deep, he felt the squirming again, the twisting inside him. Spreading his legs wide, there was something pushing against his inner walls, trying to make its way out. John’s head swam and he couldn’t help but gasp as the pressure moved downwards. He leaned back against the bed, waiting, but nothing happened, the wiggling feeling pushing down, and then pausing, before disappearing back into his body. John just stayed there, breathing heavily, but all was still. 

Had it been a dream? He rose to look at himself again. His belly was a little big, perhaps, but lying down, it didn't look too bad? Shaking his head, he lied back in the bed. What had just happened? Was he going insane? His doctors had warned him about PTSD and the many ways the symptoms could show themselves. Was this it? John laid still and breathed. He was still super horny, though, and maybe he should take care of that first?

Thinking of that feeling, the wiggling deep in his abdomen, John had no problem reaching climax. Laying back, he noticed his cum being tinted green too, and smelling sweet. It was probably one of the least weird things about the last few weeks though, and he still felt horny, so he kept stroking himself, thinking of the wiggle inside him, it making him feel so good he came, again and again. There was no stopping the feeling of being more and more aroused, and he was several fingers in and all lubed up with his own greenish cum when the churning and wiggling started again. By then he welcomed it, too far gone to be alarmed, when the little squirming in his ass pressed down, down in a steady stream, pooling into his hands. 

They are too many to count, little purple tadpoles, wiggling around in the puddle of green cum he had produced. John looked at them and sighed, hoping it meant it was over. He got up to get a bowl to put them in. He wondered if he should be more worried, but he felt strangely calm about the whole thing, like he almost expected it. Filling up a plastic wash basin, the feeling began anew, and John realized that there still got to be more inside him. Lukewarm water had to do for the ones on the bed, and he scooped the first batch up quickly as another was making his stomach churn and genitals swell. There was nothing he could do, as he felt them moving, other than feeling full and a little nauseous, like the creatures weren’t just pushing down and out of his ass but also moving higher. He barely felt sick before vomiting up another bunch of the tadpoles, there had to be at least fifty of them, and he accidentally almost dragged some of them down his lungs while gasping for air. 

Moving to the bathroom, washing the sweat of his face, John started to wonder if his new found state could be related to the guy he met at the bar, because boy, they had sex all night, in all kinds of constellations, and if every single one of these times he swallowed that guy’s cum he was injected with some of these little beings, then... John felt a thrill in his stomach at the very idea of being knocked up with tadpoles because of that guy, but then the nausea came back again and he vomited into his bath tub. Looking at the purple dots flipping around, he filled the whole tub up with water and dumped the other ones in there as well, because the bowl was probably going to be too small anyway. Looking at them made him feel sort of proud. Someone else might had flushed them down the toilet and tried to forget the whole thing happened, but John felt oddly connected to the creatures he had given birth to. 

He barely had time to think that before he felt something crawl up his urethra. 

“Right”, he thought, cursing his weird kinks and the fact that the other guy was so happy to fulfill them.

The purple tadpoles all get out of the way when John lowers himself into the bath tub, it was not as warm as it should be but his skin was burning up and the water was nice and cool compared to it. The tadpoles was wiggling their small squishy bodies out of his dick and into the surrounding water, one at a time, and John couldn’t help but lean back, moaning a little at the strange feeling. He sat there, hands grabbing the edges of the tub, watching another thirty or so make their way out the tip of his dick, while feeling the small prickles of the others swimming around him, the small critters moving, their tiny mouths nibbling at his shin and the hairs of his legs. John faintly wondered if it was dangerous, staying with them like this. He had no idea what they were, after all. Were the little creatures carnivorous? They wouldn't eat him, right?

He would be an easy prey, John chuckled to himself, being too tired to move or do anything else than add to their armies, like a great giant mother from some ancient saga. He liked that idea though, looking down at the little purple things. They were so tiny, and he had an urge to protect them. The wiggling inside him began anew and he sat up, his legs under him, his stance wide, as another wave washed through him. The tadpoles pushed out of him, so many of them, pressing against his insides, and he felt himself get hard again, leaking, and that seemed to set more of them off, making him nauseous for a second before throwing up more tadpoles, coughing and spitting out the last few as more of them rushed out of his ass, the relief of pressure making him go down on all fours in the water, gasping for air as he felt tadpoles force their way out of him, another batch in his ass, a couple tightly wiggling out of his dick, another in his throat... 

When John became aware again of anything else than excruciating pleasure from all the creatures moving out of him, it was early morning. He was still hot, and he felt disturbingly empty, and exhausted. Around him, what looked like a thousand little purple spots were moving around, examining his body, nibbling at his skin, coloring the water dark. He didn't want to move, he felt like he belonged there with them. It was very quiet and kind of peaceful. 

Then there was a sudden, loud bang on the door. It startled him, and the little ones, and he yelped as they all pressed tightly against him, wiggling inside wherever they could find a way in, his ass, his penis, his mouth and nose, and he swallowed them down again, no room to even think about anything else but breathing through them and trying not to crush them. His stomach was taut again, stuffed in every direction, John could feel them wiggle inside his guts, and he wondered, again, if he had become mad. Mostly, he couldn't get over how wonderful it felt to stretched to the brim with his babies, and when had they turned from tadpoles to babies anyway? Wobbling up to his feet, careful not to disturb them too much, he decided he would have to deal with his weird, maternal feelings later. If this was PTSD, it had a funny way of showing itself.

Making sure all of them was inside him, he stepped out of the nasty water and pulled the plug. The loud knock was heard again and he wrapped himself in a blanket before opening the door. It was his landlady, Mrs Hudson.

“Heard some weird noises, dear,” she said, her kind eyes looking worried. “Are you alright?”

He thought about telling her.

“Yeah,” he said, “I just think I’ve caught some stomach virus.”

“Oh dear,” she said, taking a step back. “You do look pale. Do you have someone to take care of you?”

“That's alright, Mrs Hudson, I am perfectly fine on my own.”

“I'll come by tomorrow to check on you again.”

“Thank you, good bye!”

John could feel the tadpoles move again, ready to come out, as soon as he closed the door. He turned on the tap slowly and got in the tub on all fours, and the little creatures flooded out of him and into the fresh water. Touching his balls, he could feel the ones inside move around, and started to jerk them out, the sensation foreign but not unpleasant. His cum made them rush out of him, and it also helped to relax his throat and stomach muscles. Climaxing, the tadpoles flowed out, getting stuck everywhere in his urethra, his hair, his nose. He coughed them out of his lungs and had to finger himself for the last ones to come out of his ass. The empty feeling came back as he made sure they were all gone from him, and he felt ravenous. He found some tinned soup in the kitchen, as well as a loaf of bread and some cheese, so he ate all of it, filling his empty insides out, barely caring what it tasted like, just refueling his body. He wondered if they had been parasiting on his body, eating him from within, but he felt much better after the meal. He called the practice and told Diane they had to add to the sick days and he must have sounded really ill, because Diane had nothing but sympathy for him. His secretary even asked if she should come over and check on him, but he declined, saying as he had told the landlady, “it's just a stomach virus or the flu, better not risk others getting sick”, and she agreed.

The following days, he slept in or near the tub. At first, he stayed separated from his unlikely babies, sleeping on the floor on a mattress. He wasn't sure what they ate, so at first, some of them died, and he watched in horror as they turned gray over the following hours and sort of withered away. After two nights of finding more graying tadpoles, he stepped back in the tub, just to be close to them if they were all going to perish anyway, and found that he could reverse the process by letting them inside him, so after that first night he just slept in the tub, letting them take whatever it was from him that made them feel better. They mostly just swam around him, nibbling at his skin, and he didn’t feel any ill effects from them. After another two weeks, he had found something akin to peace with them. He had met with a colleague and gone through a medical exam, fearing what the other physician would discover, but the doctor had only found him under acute stress and given him six months of leave to regain his strength. John’s days now consisted of reading, eating, sometimes grabbing a beer with some friends to keep up appearances, and the rest of the time he spent in the tub with the tadpoles. They weren't doing much, just slowly got a little bigger and a little fewer but after two weeks they were still small purple spots swimming in his tub. He had started to talk to them, little cooing sounds at first, but then more whole sentences.

“What will I do with you when I need to go back to work, huh?” he asked them, careful not to sound too worried. “I can't leave you in a daycare, you understand that right?”

They all stilled for a second, like they understood. John sighed and leaned back, his head half way under water, letting them use his mouth as a hiding place, food source, anything they might need. He wondered, as many times before, if he was going insane, and if there were laws against having tadpoles swimming in and out of your body. He was pretty sure they were aliens and as far as he knew there were no laws against harming aliens. And he wasn't harming them either, he didn't think. The little critters were very resilient, and weren’t affected by stomach acids or saliva, they generally didn't look anything but happy as far as he could tell, as long as they could use him as a shelter as soon as there were any sign of...

A small knock was heard on his door. 

...danger.

He turned on his stomach as they all pressed inside at once, sighing, widened his knees and submerged his chin in the water. Making sure they were all inside he got dressed in sweatpants and a large t-shirt and opened the door, thinking it was his landlady, as she had made a habit of making sure he was alright. His hand was on his stomach, calming the churning little beings inside, humming soothingly. They were always moving at first, almost too much for him to handle, the feeling satisfactory, and he wasn't paying attention to who was outside until he heard the visitor clear his throat. 

It was Sherlock, the guy from the bar that had gotten him in this state to begin with. His green eyes looked humble and vaguely apologetic, and the glance the man gave his body told him that this guy knew what was going on, at least to some degree. 

“Hello,” the alien said. “Um, how are you?”

“What are you doing here?” John asked, cursing his curtly tone.

“I wanted to say I was sorry, or, I am sorry, for...”

He did a little vague gesture towards him, and John just stared at him. 

“... I mean, usually, it doesn't stick,” he continued in a hushed tone, “it never sticks, but I heard from Mike you had quit your job and isolated yourself, and I just needed to see if you were, well, alright.”

John wanted to cry, or laugh, at finally being able to tell someone about what was happening, but he didn't let it show just then. Instead, he took a step away from the door.

“Want to come in?” he asked, formal.

“If it's all right with you?”

“Sure.”

He made some tea, and they sat down and talked, the guy watching him, interested, and seemed to notice everything from how he walked and put his hands on his stomach to the way he shifted in his chair. 

“So,” John said, “what are you? Alien?”

“Yes, there’s this planet a couple of light years away, mostly made of water. Me and my crew were on a trading mission here but I opted to stay, I have no immediate family and I like your music, we don’t have that back home. So I worked at the bar and I got to know you and you seemed like a cool person, you know. I didn't know that the eggs would stick to you. I didn't know I could fertilize anyone on this planet. I mean, I haven't tried it out on anyone but you, but all my sources said...”

“Yeah, well, here we are.”

The alien nodded, looking at him again. John stirred his tea, not drinking it until it was cold and then in small sips, doing everything not to startle the little ones.

“Can I ask you to describe the pregnancy?” Sherlock asked. “I know it's not called that with men, but whatever you like to call it?”

John could finally tell someone, and the alien was fascinated, praising him for being such a good breeder. Sherlock seemed just as sad as John to hear some of them died but was equally impressed with how many were left, given how he had no information to go on but instincts.

While telling Sherlock, John could feel the tadpoles wiggle inside him, ready to get out again as the supposed threat was gone. He felt nauseous, patting his belly, humming for them to calm down, but it only worked for a little while at a time. The green eyed man watched him, captivated, and John wondered if he would be upset with him for keeping them inside him even now, despite it being the only way he knew to keep them alive. Also, talking to him made John remember exactly why he brought him home the first time, and John didn't want the alien to leave him alone with this burden, not again and not when he was the only one that had some experience with this sort of thing.

“So,” the alien intones, moving close, his green eyes glancing down, “do you keep them somewhere? After you birthed them, I mean?” 

He blushed and looked down. This guy knew so much about his body now.

“No, they mostly swim around in my tub,” John mumbled.

“And when you or them perceive a peril, of some sort?”

He looked up, surprised. Sherlock was even closer now, his hand slowly reaching out to touch John’s knee, his eyes locked to his.

“They go inside,” John explained, his voice low.

“Where?” 

“Just about everywhere they can.”

“Your mouth?”

“And other places.”

“And when it's safe again?”

“They come out.”

The alien smiled, looking awed and satisfied, moving ever so slightly closer to John, touching more of him, and John sighed as the little ones moved inside him.

“What does that feel like?” he asked, a little tremble in his voice.

“It's not... all bad,” John tried, his blush deepening.

The alien looked alarmed.

“I'm sorry to make you go through that," he murmured. "The child bearers on my planet describe it as the worst of pains, passing the heads of the new life and taking them in to do it all again, over and over, sometimes several times a day. We try not to startle them because of this, but most they happily do it to prolong their species.”

John almost chuckled, if it wasn't for all the little ones threatening to escape him, making him press his knees together.

“Your anatomy must be different from human’s then, because I assure you, it is no chore.”

“It’s not?”

“Not at all,” he smiled, and then swallowed as the nausea he thought he had under control flared up again. “I’m sorry, I-I need to...”

He ran over to the bath room and had no time to close the door before they rush out of his mouth, crowding to be free. Removing his pants and spreading his legs, he lets them flow into the water, whimpering a little as they squirm inside his urethra and ass. Holding on, he let the final ones out with a couple of fingers up his ass, breathing hard as he felt the last couple of ones move inside his urethra, and stroking himself, he noticed the alien standing in the doorway, watching him. 

“Here, let me help”, the green eyed man said, stepping forward, and then his mouth was on him, sucking and spitting out purple tadpoles in the water, and John had never came so hard in his life as he did a second later, laying still for half a minute in the cold water, the tadpoles squirming around him. The alien grinned at him, nothing but joy in his face, and John couldn’t help but smile back. Sherlock dragged him out of the tub, picking tadpoles off him and then just watched as they moved around.

“They are beautiful,” he said, his voice low with emotion, and then he helped John to his bed. 

Having someone more to look after the little ones, John felt like he could just relax a little, and when he looked up again, the sun had moved. He smelled Chinese take out, and curiously walked over to the kitchen.

“I called for some take out, but didn’t want to wake you,” Sherlock said, motioning to the beef and noodles on the table. “You want some?”

“Thank you,” John said, certainly not wiping tears from his eyes, and if he did, Sherlock didn't mention it. 

It was wonderful, salty and fat and just right compared to whatever his land lady used to make him. Sherlock did the washing up and John made them tea and then they sort of just talked, leaning in close, talking about the bar, when John was expected back to work, how the tadpoles was supposed to evolve into human looking creatures eventually, what movies they liked, how different their planets were, especially when it came to breeding. They watched tv, Sherlock leaning close to John and John patting his hair as though they often stayed together like this. John nodded off a couple of times, always a little panicky when waking up in case Sherlock would leave him alone again. 

The green eyed man watched him as John finally turned the tv off and stood up. 

“I need to get in there with them,” the doctor explained. “They aren’t as sensitive now as they were at first but I still need to be there.”

Sherlock looked a little lost at that, his eyes blinking slowly up at John, like he was remembering where he was.

“Yes, of course, you should.”

He cleared his throat a little, clapping his thighs, looking around. It was too precious, John thought.

“Something wrong?” he said, feeling a little adventurous.

Sherlock turned his face up at him, a question on his lips.

“Can I stay with you?” he asked. “I know I have been kind of an absent parent, but I didn't know about them. I am a stranger to this world and you don’t know that much about me, but I’d like to help out in any way I can. For one, we are going to need a big house for when they grow up, and two salaries are better than one. It is alright if you don't want me around, too, of course.”

John felt a happy warmth spread across his body, filling him up, producing a stupidly broad smile on his face.

“We can try,” John said. “For tonight, you can have the bed.”

The alien beamed at him, looking absolutely gorgeous, his green eyes shining.

“Yep,” John thought as the alien wrapped his long arms around him, “this could certainly work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, leave kudos<3


	2. Plugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin (tags).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (not sorry).

John looked down on the alien sleeping in his bed, his curly hair dark against the white linen. He had been sitting there for half an hour, and he began to feel a little silly.

“This is stupid,” he sighed, turning over to go check on the tadpoles.

The taddies, as he had started to call them, moved swifter as he lowered himself down in the water. Another two months had gone by and there was no change. Even Sherlock seemed puzzled to why, even going as far as lowering himself into the bath, with no ill effects other than him being startled by the way they tried to get inside him.

“They were just curious,” John tried to soothe him, “they are children, you know.”

“Well, maybe to you it seems normal, because they grew inside you, and you birthed them, but I’m not quite as fond of it.”

John thought about mentioning that none of this seemed very normal to him as well, but decided against it. 

Now, sitting in the water with them, he simply lowered himself down so everything but his nose was in the water, and the top of his knees. He used an old pair of pants as a pillow and just laid there, breathing, as the little ones roamed over him. 

“John?”

He rose his mouth up, spitting soft little bodies out of his mouth.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’ve got another thing we could try,” Sherlock said, a smirk in his voice, “if you are up for it?”

John tried not to sound intrigued.

“Yeah? Like what?”

The alien disappeared for a little bit and John sank back down, assuming there was something he needed to get in order to explain. Instead, there was a loud banging noise coming from the kitchen, and all the tadpoles flowed into him all at once.

Coughing and swallowing, he heard the banging come closer, making their children swim further down and up inside him, until he saw Sherlock standing there, letting down the two pans carefully.

“All aboard?” he asked casually, his green eyes peering down at John.

“I think so,” John said, swallowing and clearing his throat. “Was that really necessary?”

“If we are going to try what I am about to suggest, yes, it was, and it’s important that they are all nicely packed in there and not so easily coming out.”

John looked at him, at the way Sherlock was eyeing his body up and down, and frowned.

“Are you going to suggest what I’m thinking you are suggesting?” John said.

“Now John, how am I supposed to know what you are thinking?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“You look at me like that for much longer, you are going to get into trouble.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, so tell me your plan quickly.”

Sherlock grinned as he reached out to pull John out of the tub. The tadpoles stayed still inside his taut stomach, still not daring to move, which was a good thing, John thought, as Sherlock leaned in to kiss him.

“I thought that I might be able to further the growth and metamorphosis of some of our offspring by fertilizing them a second time. Maybe I can provide something that they need, something from my planet.”

Sherlock reached down to kiss John and caress his stomach, drawing small circles.

“Mmm,” John hummed, “we can always try it, you know.”

They had slept together more than once since that one faithful night, Sherlock explaining that he didn’t always carry eggs so the risk of giving John another set of tadpoles weren’t very high. John had thought about it for maybe half a second and realized he didn’t care. Sherlock was too gorgeous to give up having sex with, the way they fit together too good to not make use off as often as they could. With Sherlock around, John had been able to start seeing patients again, and they talked about what they would do in the future, if they should move somewhere where they could raise a couple of hundred children, and then wondering if they would become more than tadpoles or if John’s and Sherlock’s biology were too different to produce more than what they had, the purple little beings swimming around in John’s tub. Now, however, they were all inside him, stuffed inside his guts, kept safe as Sherlock coaxed him to the bedroom, kissing him, rubbing his nose against his ear, nibbling his neck and ears. John gasped as Sherlock kissed his chest and pressed against his stomach, threatening to release the load inside him. 

“We need a plug,” he gasped reaching to open the drawer on the night stand, Sherlock picking one out together with some lube. He kept kissing and caressing him slowly as he worked John open, lubing the plug before pushing it in, letting John adjust and relax around it. 

“Better?” Sherlock asked as the frown on Johns face subsided.

“Much, thank you.”

Sherlock hummed and kept circling upwards, keeping his fingers light as he moved up his shaft.

“Where do you want to start?” Sherlock asked, kissing his length as he reached for another item in the night stand. 

Sherlock had learnt of John’s kinks on that first night, so John didn’t need to tell him that he liked to have a metal rod inserted into his dick, Sherlock just did it anyway. John also knew some of Sherlock’s kinks, like the one where he liked to give John head first and clean him up after, claiming John “tasted good”. They just had to be more careful now, with the extra cargo. 

“Seems like a good place, where you are right now,” John murmured, and hissed as Sherlock lowered his curly head over his, letting his tongue swirl over the top as well as down around his length, taking him deep down into his throat. John’s stomach moved as he arched his back, the babies stuffed inside squirming, and knowing they were safe and the way they pressed against his insides and with the plug inside him, it didn’t take him long to climax. He moaned loudly, pushing at Sherlock to move as his orgasm also let out a few tadpoles that had swam inside him that way. Sherlock picked them up and fed them to John, who swallowed them down without thinking about it a second time. Sherlock’s eyes were hooded as he lapped at John, making sure he was clean before slowly pushing the metal rod in, watching John’s face the whole time. John squirmed at the coolness, loving the feeling of being plugged up, so full.

“How are you feeling, John?” Sherlock asked as he pulled closer, kissing his lover’s face. 

“Mmm, great,” John slurred, “never better.”

He grinned up at Sherlock, who was already caressing his stomach again, his eyes blown and cock bulging.

“I didn’t know you would be so much into this when I suggested it,” Sherlock said, and John just shrugged.

“Me neither,” he said, “but it’s really, very...” 

Erotic? Wrong but right? Weird, but good? John didn’t know. His world hadn’t been right for a long time, and he figured there was no point in complaining, not now, when he was enjoying himself this much.

Instead, he motioned Sherlock over to his side so he could slide down his body and start sucking him off. Sherlock made some weird huffs about it, but after a while his thrusts began to be so powerful John dragged him on top of his face, stuffing his mouth with his long, slim cock. It might had felt weird before, but John had gotten used to opening his mouth wide and let things in, so he just relaxed, grabbed Sherlock’s ass for leverage and followed the flow. When Sherlock stilled, John felt the motion of his long orgasm and just focused on breathing as the fluids poured down his throat and into his stomach, and hopefully causing their young to grow. John felt them move around as the liquids hit them, but didn’t feel any nausea, so it was probably not too bad for them. It was exhilarating for him, being stuffed and plugged to the brim like that, even considering the added problem of not being able to breathe very well. It was a relief when the flow ebbed and Sherlock slowly pulled out of his mouth, panting and laying down next to him. He moved close to John, kissing his neck slowly. 

“You smell so incredible, and you taste so good, and you are beautiful,” he babbled as he spooned his lover, covering his neck, his shoulders, his back and butt cheeks in kisses, moving back up along his sides, kissing his stomach, lightly as to not disturb the life within. He then moved down between his legs, tickling the rod with his tounge to remind John that it still was in there, before moving to the plug, looking up at John for approval before grabbing his legs and turning him over. Feeling Sherlock’s tounge at the rim around the plug, John shuddered. Sherlock first made sure he was slick with lube as John pressed his ass up so Sherlock could edge the plug out and position himself instead. His girth was about the same as the plug, but his shaft longer, so he just let himself in a little bit before pulling out again, pressing in further with each stroke, never pulling out completely. John whimpered a little at first, and Sherlock stopped to let him adjust and relax before continueing, and soon John moaned and pressed himself back at Sherlock as Sherlock pounded into him, brushing over John’s prostate again and again, and it felt so good, John was almost at his climax, and just as he didn’t think he was going to take anymore, Sherlock pulled at the metal rod in his dick, pulled it out slowly as he kept moving in and out, and that did it for John, he screamed as he came, and he could feel Sherlock come too as they rolled over to the side, Sherlock still inside him, moving, throbbing with come, just like before, his hands on his big moving belly, plugging him up.

“If this doesn’t do it, I don’t know what will,” John thought as he moved in small bursts, twitching as the orgasm flowed over him.

He wasn’t allowed to stay like that for long though, as their babies made themselves known.

“Impatient little buggers,” John muttered as he rose and pulled himself off Sherlock, penguin walking over to the bathroom, swallowing until he was back in the tub, the water running, on all fours. Letting them out, most of the cum followed, and he realized Sherlock might as well just could have jerked off in the tub with the same effect.

It would just not had been nearly as fun for either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, put a bookmark on it! (or just a kudos<3)


	3. A country house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harriet visits John and Sherlock in their new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff with a twist at the end.

One year later

“John!”

“Hello, Harriet.”

His sister stepped out of her car and embraced him. He hugged her back, his heart pounding. 

“Look at you, country life suits you!” she babbled on, grabbing her bag and swing it over her shoulder. “Though I must say, if someone else had told me you were moving out here, I would have laughed them right in the face!”

Ignoring his outstretched hand offering to take her bag, she walked past him down the small trail to the house, her red converse sinking down and getting muddy as she kept talking.

“I guess the mysterious mr Holmes had something to do with it,” she smirked, pleased with herself.

“Well, you wouldn’t be wrong, exactly,” John answered nervously. 

She walked out into the clearing where their house stood, an old stone house, big and looming, covered in moss and vines.

“Wow, John, this isn’t a house, more like a mansion,” Harriet called out, looking back at him. “How many rooms does this monster have?”

“About twenty,” John sighed, scratching the back of his head. “It was the biggest we could find.”

“You’re starting a bed and breakfast or something?” Harriet joked, staring at him. “A hospice maybe?”

Sherlock sat at the porch, Harriet waved as they came closer. 

“This is Sherlock,” John introduced him, “Sherlock, this is my sister Harriet.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Harriet grinned, putting down her bag and flicking her blonde hair from her face.

“Likewise,” Sherlock said, his smile thin and equally nervous.

Harriet looked between them, frowning.

“Okay, John, what’s going on? You two moving out here into a big scary house is one thing, but if you don’t want me here, why invite me?”

“Please, Harriet, that's not it,” John said, putting his hands up, “but there’s something, rather pressing, that I need to tell you...”

There was a large crash from inside the house.

“What is so god damned important you couldn’t tell me on the phone?” Harriet groused. “Oh god, you are not dying, are you?”

John smiled as Sherlock walked inside, a resigned look on his face.

“No, I’m not dying, it’s just, well...”

“Daddy!” a child called out, running past Harriet and latching on to John’s leg. 

John picked Jordan up and searched Harriet’s face for a reaction. She smiled at the kid, the relation to Sherlock clear, dark curls pared with gray eyes.

“She is so cute,” Harriet said, “is she Sherlock’s? Hello darling!”

Another ten children peered out at them through the door as she turned, some blonde with piercing green eyes and some dark haired with John’s grey. 

Harriet seemed to have some trouble grasping what was happening as more children looking like them, boys and girls all the same age, poured out of the front door and onto the porch. Harriet gasped as she spun around, the children crowding her, climbing up at the railings to see better, their bare feet dirty, no one dressed the same but the resemblance to either John, Sherlock or a mix of both still uncanny.

“Children,” John said, and they stilled for a second and turned towards him, “this is your aunt Harriet.”

Sherlock appeared in the doorway too, carrying three more kids, towering over them like a giant. Harriet stared at them, between John and Sherlock, a little wobbly.

“I... I’m an aunt?” she whispered.

A somewhat simplified version of the events later, the kids getting bored and leaving as they talked, Harriet had more or less gotten the gist of what had happened.

“So...” John’s sister said, rubbing her face, “you hooked up with an alien?”

“Pretty much.”

"And now you two have like a thousand kids all of a sudden?"

"Yep."

"And I'm an aunt?"

"If you don't tell the authorities about this, yes."

Harriet stared, and then she began to laugh. 

“I wish our parents could see us now,” she hick-uped between giggles. “They were always so condemning, telling us the only viable life was one resembling their own as much as possible, two kids and a dog in the suburbs. Look at us now, all homosexuals!”

John smiled a little at that too, patting Sherlock’s thigh lovingly.

“Technically, the two of us are xenosexual,” the alien opposed, and that only made John burst out into a low chuckle of delight.

Later, when Harriet were watching Moomin surrounded by their kids, the doctor and the alien went outside, sitting in the dark under the stars.

“This went well, I think,” John said, sighing and relaxing a little, leaning towards the railing.

“Your sister seems to be very open minded,” Sherlock agreed.

“Yeah. For the longest time, I thought it was just for show, an act of defiance towards our square upbringing, but I don’t know, maybe it was there all along.”

Sherlock didn’t answer, and when John looked back at him, he noticed his lover looking up at the sky, a longing look on his face.

“Hey,” John said, moving closer. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no,” Sherlock said, shaking his head as to banish some thought. “I just thought about my family for a second.”

“You miss them?” John asked, snuggling closer.

“Heavens, no!” 

Sherlock turned his face down at John in the low lights, his eyes glowing green as he smiled a broad, genuine smile and kissed him on the lips. He was the most enchanting thing John had ever seen. The alien put his chin on top of his doctor’s head, dragging him with him to sit down on the stairs. A warm breeze swept past them and John felt a buzz inside him, like he was exactly where he should be, no matter how unlikely and in what fashion he had got there.

“You are the only family I need,” Sherlock murmured, and John sighed happily.

“Likewise.”

They just sat there, content, completely oblivious to anything other than each other.

A couple of feet from them, a small camera, disguised as a bee, turned it’s antennas against them. In an wood-paneled office in the middle of London, a man in a waist coat leaned hard against his umbrella as he turned off the screen.

“‘The only family I need’?” he repeated, smiling sadly. “Why, little brother, perhaps I need to remind you of who your real protectors are.”

He strolled out of the office, calling for Anthea to call him a cab, first thing in the morning.

“We have some family matter’s to attend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill.


	4. The frog prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft comes to visit John and Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes John and Sherlock face some difficult choices.

There was a knock on the door. John and Sherlock perked their heads up. No one ever came out to their home, and certainly not at six thirty in the morning, while everyone were getting ready for work.

Sherlock had the kids this day, John was finishing up his morning tea and getting ready for a day at the local clinic. Everyone loved him there, having a good 15 years of experience in the field and at home made him quite popular. Sherlock, live-in lover, alien and father to an impressive amount of children, scoffed at the door, raising his head from the kitchen sofa.

“I don’t think we should open,” he said impassionately.

“It might be someone who needs help, maybe their car broke down out here or something.”

John shrugged into his suit and walked over to the door. His boyfriend groaned, laying back down.

Turning the handle, John opened the door and stood face to face with a dapper man about his own age, dressed in a three piece suit, carrying an umbrella. Behind him in the sunlight stood a black car with tinted windows. An equally well dressed woman leaned against the passenger door, tapping something into her phone.

“Good morning, Dr Watson,” the man said, a thin smile curling his lips.

“Hello,” John said, looking between them, unsure what to do, and after a long silence, deciding that they were here for his medical knowledge. “I’m sorry, I don’t do private consultations. I can give you the number to the clinic, and Leila will arrange something...”

His hands already roamed his pockets for his card as the man snorted and walked past him, into the house.

“That won’t be necessary, Dr Watson,” the man dismissed him. “Sherlock!”

The call made several of their barely risen kids peek their curious heads over the railings of the stairs. The man took one look at them and scowled, calling out again, moving deeper into their house. John followed him, wondering who this man was, what he wanted with his boyfriend and worrying about the look he had been giving his children, like he _knew_...

“Sherlock,” the man said as they entered the kitchen, barely spotting the dark haired alien under the sheets in the sofa.

“Mycroft.”

John finally was able to speak.

“You know this man?!” he asked.

“He’s my brother.”

Mycroft’s smile was back. John felt like he understood a little more and a little less at the same time.

“I thought you said you had no immediate family?” 

Mycroft looked at John and then back at Sherlock.

“I’m hurt,” he announced, still smiling, no detectable emotion in his voice.

“Mycroft holds a high ranked position in the government in the area we used to live in and claim as our own, similar to your countries,” Sherlock explained to John. “Technically we are half brothers, as I’m the only one surviving from my brood and he’s an illegitimate child from the same father but a different lover.” 

“Sherlock, please, I have no power worth mentioning,” Mycroft tutted. “Though I wish you would stop this charade and come back home and claim what’s yours.”

“For what, so you can rise even further?” the dark haired alien growled. “I am perfectly happy here.”

Mycroft’s smile fell. He looked intently into Sherlock’s eyes, which made the younger brother's eyes glow brighter for a second.

“Mycroft,” he pressed out, “if you want to communicate with me, we have to do it so John can understand too.”

“Fine,” the man grunted, “you want to introduce him?”

John looked a bit wary as the two aliens turned to him. He was already late for work, and he pointed it out.

“I don’t mean to sound condescending,” the older brother said, “but this has to do with national security. Maybe little Mrs Connely and her hip can wait?”

John turned to Sherlock, who looked incredibly irritated.

“The sooner he get’s what he wants, the sooner he’ll leave,” his boyfriend said. “It won’t take that long John, I swear. Come here.”

He looked between them and then moved to sit beside Sherlock on the sofa. 

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Just relax, John,” Sherlock said. “Do you trust me?”

John answered immediately.

“Of course I...”

Sherlock’s smile was dazzling as he leaned in to kiss him, and something wet shot down his throat. He could feel himself swoon as the tongue like, slimy appendage split and found it’s way down his throat, and up his nasal passage to his brain. It didn’t hurt, but something was moved around, pushed aside, filling out. A pulse of pain, like a migraine, and then it was gone, and Sherlock slowly moved out of him again. They were both breathing hard. 

“Can you hear me?” Sherlock asked, but he wasn’t moving his lips. “Try to say something.”

“What?” John said, and then, with his lips, “what?”

“Bit of adjustment needed for the monkey boy,” the older brother said, also not moving his lips.

John heard them clearly, he was just distracted. From upstairs, he now heard little low peeps and chatter, and he couldn’t help but tear up.

“I didn’t know they sounded like that too,” he whispered. “It’s like a whole other dimension.”

“I was thinking of suggesting the alteration,” Sherlock murmured in his mind.

“I can hear them. Our children, Sherlock, I can... It’s so lovely.”

Sherlock smiled, leaning against his doctor, but Mycroft broke through the haze.

“Gentlemen,” he said, his words no longer words but images and concepts. “If you will take your minds off your spawn for a second, we have business to attend. It is no longer safe here. The rulers of the invaders has sent out spies who learned of your location, Sherlock, and will no doubt use it as propaganda for war, crushing the almost three hundred years of peace we, I, have accomplished. You need to return and stop them, rule them.”

“Hang on, now,” John said, with his mouth. “Why does Sherlock have to do this?”

Mycroft shot his brother a look. 

“You never told him?”

“I didn’t ever think I would have to bring it up.”

“Monkey boy,” Mycroft turned against John, “Sherlock is the last surviving of the brood of the dying king. He is the only actual heir in a vast sea of illegitimate children, the most powerful in our area of land and, since our land holds the most people and therefore is the most powerful, also, in a certain way, the most powerful heir to the throne on our planet." 

The statement was conveyed with images, and John marveled at the concepts of princes and the literal sea of people who weren’t eligible for the throne, along with millions of purple tadpoles surrounding the child bearers of the land. 

“You said you were here for a mission and stayed for the music,” John said. 

Sherlock curled into himself, flicking between John’s eyes and his hands.

“It was technically true,”he said, his voice small. “I wanted to escape. I didn’t want any of it. I wanted... peace.”

He let a stream of the fighting of the courts on his planet stream through John’s head, and the feelings with it. The need to rule, to sit in meetings, to find a wife and procreate, not being able to eat anything without first feeding it to the poison inspectors, and above all, Mycroft whispering in your ear all day long. No music, no freedom, no friends.

“Oh Sherlock,” John said, aghast.

Mycroft scoffed.

“Always so melodramatic.”

John could feel the curiosity of the kids upstairs.

“Children,” he called them softly, and it was though he sent out little golden threads towards them, connecting to all of them in a way he hadn’t known were possible. It was soft and wonderful, and it filled up his chest with even more love than before.

“Come down and meet your uncle,” he said.

Their little feet came drumming down the stairs. Mycroft smiled at them, but his imagery was snide and patronizing as he looked them over. 

“This is impressive, Sherlock,” he admitted. “Who knew mating with a monkey would produce so many viable offspring? The council will never acknowledge them, of course.”

“He isn’t like our aunt,” Carol said, and the other’s nodded, disappointedly. 

“I’m glad,” Mycroft said, his smile growing wider, more malicious. 

The children didn’t say anything as he got up.

“You need to come with me, Sherlock, or war will break out and all your subjects will suffer.”

More images flowed into John’s mind, and by the look of Sherlock’s face, into his as well. Thousands upon thousands of images of their people, slaughtered, strangled, pierced with spears. Water so thick with blood they couldn’t see. It reminded John of Afghanistan.

“Enough!” Sherlock spewed, standing up and staring Mycroft down. 

There was a singular feeling streaming through their minds now, a call for absolute obedience that John had only felt glimpses of in the past, as an extra forceful command during sex. Now it made him, along with Mycroft, go down on his knees, baring his throat, surrender completely.

“Yes,” Mycroft whispered, actual awe in his voice, “there you are, my king.”

Sherlock pulled himself together a second later, releasing them, but John could certainly see why Mycroft needed his brother. That kind of power had to be something to lie for, maim for, kill for. Sherlock was the only one who had that ability.

“Leave,” Sherlock told Mycroft.

“You can’t walk away from this,” Mycroft warned him.

“You can’t tell me what to do anymore, dear brother,” Sherlock said, a hint of that commanding feeling lacing his words, and Mycroft backed away, towards the door.

“It’s your destiny, Sherlock!” he tried, and Sherlock caught him against the wall and his body, pressing his arm up against his back. 

Mycroft whined in pain and John called out, horrified.

“Sherlock!”

“Don’t come back here, Mycroft. Don’t come near my children or my spouse again.”

“You can’t run forever,” Mycroft panted. “Remember what happened to the others...”

He stopped talking as Sherlock pushed his arm up further. John had had quite enough.

“No in front of the children, Sherlock!” he said, pulling them closer to him, all of them crowding him.

Sherlock reluctantly let go, poising himself.

“Leave,” he hissed.

Mycroft gave him a last pleading look before walking out, his umbrella in a tight grip. Sherlock adjusted his shirt, stroking his hair back, and walked to sit down, their kids parting like one to let him sit by John.

“I’m sorry I lashed out,” he said, rubbing his face. “Mycroft is the most annoying person I know.”

“He’s your family,” John said. “You can’t walk out on family.”

“You are my family, John,” he said, but his eyes were sad and far away as he smiled at John and all their kids.

“All those people,” the physician sighed. “You could prevent a war.”

“I don’t know if it’s possible,” Sherlock sighed. “And I would have to go alone. You can’t breathe under water, and our children would be outcasts. I don’t know how long I would be gone, and I can’t leave you alone, I don’t...”

John cursed himself for opening the door that morning, for not being more aggressive, or asking more questions. He cursed his heart, who couldn’t think about his own happiness, just the lives of others, even when they were aliens.

“I think you should go,” he said, tears burning behind his eyelids. “We’ll make it somehow. You need to save them.” 

Sherlock turned his face towards his doctor, his eyes glowing and wet.

“You are so incredibly noble, John Watson,” he said, hiding his tears in his sweater. “It is what I love and hate the most about you, my love.”

“I love you,” John whispered. “Come back to me.”

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock stepped into the black car in their drive way, and left. John stared after it after it had left, not sure what to do.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Michael said, tugging his sleeve with a chubby hand.

“I’m hungry too,” Olivia chimed in, and they all nodded.

“That’s right, you didn’t have breakfast,” John smiled, and tried to smile through his tears. “What do you guys want?”

“Fruit loops!” 

“Orange juice!”

“Toast!”

“Sure,” John said, “let’s do all of those.”

Sherlock had said Mycroft would transfer money so he could take care of the children, maybe hire some help. John already had someone in mind as he picked up the phone.

~ooo~

“Hi,” Harriet breathed as she walked in, her bag slung over her shoulder. 

John disentangled from his sleeping kids and slipped out to the kitchen so they could talk freely.

“E.T. phoned home, huh?” she tried to joke, but the laugh got stuck in her throat at the look on his face.

“You know when he’s going to come back?”

“No,” John said, sighing deeply. “He didn’t know either, said he needed to restore balance, break up the syndicate of revolutionaries, make everyone trust him and then find an heir... maybe a couple of months, or a year... he said it would be dangerous, and I don’t think he was joking.” 

“I’ll be here as long as you need me,” Harriet said, putting her hands over his in his lap.

“Thank you,” John said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill, leave a kudos, or bookmark :)


	5. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did it sound like when John called Harriet to ask her if she wanted to visit their new house?
> 
> This chapter answers that question, even though you didn't know you wanted to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, I just got a comment making me want to flesh out Harriet a bit more as a character, you know, for plot.
> 
> My head cannon is that she started drinking (or at least, more out of control) after breaking up with Clara and that John got back from the war, not knowing how bad it was until she threw him some sort of welcome home party where everything deteriorates pretty quickly and something happened that made them both realize how bad things were, maybe she insults him and then almost dies from alcohol poisoning or something. Whatever happened, this made them spend some time apart, only after Harriet promising to stop drinking and get her life back on track. The severity of what happened made her follow through it.
> 
> John has the phone because Harriet didn't want any memory of Clara, but the phone was too fancy to throw away. John graciously accepted to take over it.
> 
> So, there, that's my head cannon. Here's about a year and six months later, when John invites her to come visit him in the new house.

She could see the picture of John before actually hearing the phone ring.

“Bro!” she called out, keeping her voice cheery.

“Hi Harry.”

He sounded cautiously happy. Harriet walked into her stairwell, the door clicking shut, her keys jiggling in her hand as she peeked through her postbox. Or rather, it was Quentin’s postbox, but that didn’t matter.

“What’s up?” she said, balancing the letters and papers on her hip.

“Nothing much,” John said. “You?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, chagrin in her voice. “No relationship, no home, no steady employment...”

“You sound pretty happy anyway,” he pointed out, chuckling.

“I have lots of friends, lots of job offers, and I’m flat sharing with this guy named Quentin who plays video games for a living. He’s amazing, last night he did this awesome thing with strawberries for dessert, like you wouldn’t believe. He cooks and makes tons of money. Maybe you’ve seen him on YouTube?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar, no. Sorry.”

“Well, don’t apologize to me, John,” she smiled.

“Are you, um, together, or...”

“Me and the Q-tip? No no, nonononono! Not that I would say no to that kind of money, and he’s really nice, but he is gay, and I’m gay, so, no.”

“I thought you were bisexual? At Christmas you said you thought you were.”

“Yeah, but like in a general sense,” Harriet panted, walking up the stairs to their apartment. “Like, you know, when you say, “everyone is bisexual”? Me though, I’m really gay. I guess I’m an outlier.” 

She sighed melodramatically, hearing John snort in the background. She loved that she could still make him laugh, even over the phone, despite everything that happened between them.

There were silence for a while as she unlocked the door.

“Hi Q,” she called into the apartment.

“Did you just come home?” John asked, incredulous.

“Got off work an hour ago.”

“It’s seven in the morning!”

“Well, I worked the night shift at the restaurant, what you gonna do?”

She heard him hesitate on the phone. Quentin called out.

“Harriet?”

“No, it’s the ghost of Christmas past.”

“Make yourself at home.”

“Cheers, mate.”

“Harry?” John said. “Are you alright? The drinking and... all that?”

She felt herself stiffening up at his wording. He was talking about Clara. “All that” meant Clara.

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat, dumping the post on the kitchen table. “Feels better than last time we spoke. I’ve been going to all the groups and meetings. Didn’t miss a single one.”

“Good,” John mumbled, “that’s... really good.”

Harriet could almost see him, her little brother, looking down, scraping with his foot as he gathered courage to tell her something to which he didn’t know how she would react.

“So, um, I’ve... met someone.”

Harriet started, and then she smiled, for real this time.

“Oh, John, that’s lovely,” she breathed. “What’s her name?”

Another moment of hesitation.

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock. She had heard that name before.

“Isn’t there a bar downtown called Sherlock’s?”

“Yes, that’s were I met him.”

“Him?”

John was dating a guy?

“Yes, Harriet, him.”

Harriet sat down in on one of the kitchen chairs, eyes big with wonder. 

“I didn’t know you were gay.”

“Well I think we can safely assume I’m bisexual.”

“I didn’t know you were that either.”

John chuckled a little, helplessly. 

“Neither did I, before this.”

Harriet giggled out loud, she just couldn’t stop. John kept talking over it.

“I didn’t call... I didn’t call to tell you I’m discovering new sides to myself, Harry, I was actually thinking...”

John quieted again.

“Just spit it out, bro,” Harriet urged him, still bubbling.

“I know it will sound rash, but we actually just bought a house. A couple of hours from London, up in the woods, near this small village. I’d just thought I’d tell you, if you want to come visit, sometime.”

He was too precious. Harriet felt like her heart was bursting. He wanted her to come visit? Of course she would visit.

“Never too busy for my only brother,” she declared. “When can I come?” 

“How about this weekend?” he said.

“Text me the address and I’ll be there.”

“Alright, I will.”

“Cool.”

They quieted again, just breathing.

“God, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“As mom would say, I think this is enough excitement for one day. I have to be at the restaurant again in eight hours, so I really need some sleep.”

“Sounds reasonable.” 

“See you this weekend, then?”

“Yes, see you.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Harriet held the phone in her hand after ending the call, like she might hold her brother’s presence with her a while longer. She hadn’t lit anything as she sat down, so she scared her flatmate half to death as he walked into the dark kitchen for some water.

“Geez,” he said as she moved, clutching his chest. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” she smiled, walking over and patting him on the head. “I was talking to my brother, just hung up.”

“You have a brother?” he asked. “What’s he like?”

“Apparently, gay and in a steady relationship with that guy that owns that micro brewery place, what’s it called, Sherlock’s?”

“Your brother is dating Sherlock?” Quentin groaned. “Man, he’s like the sexiest guy in London. I heard he was moving away to live with the mother of his children, or something like that. Whoever bagged him is one lucky bastard.”

“Seems I’m sister to one lucky bastard then,” she winked.

“Yeah,” Quentin moped. 

Then he lit up.

“Want to call in sick from work and drink wine and eat ice-cream from the tub with me all day? Maybe watch some Netflix?”

Harriet actually considered it.

“Sorry, you know I can’t drink, and I really need the money,” she smiled. “Why don’t you call Wendy or Sam to do that with you?”

“Yeah, alright. Sleep tight!”

She showered and fell onto the bed. Ten minutes later, she was fast asleep, dreaming about nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody loves kudos<3


	6. Hasta la vista, John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain mr Brook visits dr Watson's clinic and everything sort of dwindles into chaos from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (not sorry). Poor John.

The days and weeks that followed were quiet. Johns sister moved in permanently, claiming it was the best living she had had in a long time. The kids loved her, she told crazy stories, built pillow forts, invented games that everyone could play along with, and comforted when someone got hurt.

The money Mycroft sent arrived punctually every week, and it was more than enough to keep them afloat, but John liked going to work, so he kept that up. No one in town knew exactly how many kids he had, they treated him like he was part of some peculiar church or cult, and he didn’t blame them, buying enough groceries to sustain a small country each day. Somehow, he felt all of his children, even though he never said anything out loud about it, like an imaginary net stretching out, encapsulating all of them. There was something about them, like the alleged bond between twins, making them able to communicate wordlessly among each other, and somehow John could tap into that connection as well. Maybe because he spent time with them, maybe because of Sherlock, but John always knew where his children were.

That was why, when he felt distress shoot through that same bond, he immediately stopped what he was doing and called back at the house.

“Sorry,” Harriet said, “Edward fell down from the tree house we are building. It’s really hard to keep track of them all!”

“You need any help? Is he hurt?”

“He cried for maybe half a second but he seems fine now,” Harriet said, shrugging. “Wanna talk to him?”

“Hi daddy,” Edward said.

“Are you okay?”

“I fell down from ‘e ‘ree,” he said, laughing a little.

“Yes, I heard. Be more careful next time, okay?”

“Okay dad.”

“I’ll be home soon.”

John hung up and turned to his patient.

“I’m sorry you had to wait, mr... 

“Brook,” the dark haired man said, smiling awkwardly.

“Ah, and what can I assist you with today, mr Brook?”

The man squirmed a bit in his chair, looking almost embarrassed behind his shy smile.

“I’m not sure I can tell you,” he said, looking up and then down again.

John walked around the table to sit closer to the man.

“I can assure you I have strict confidentiality towards my patients,” John assured him. “Nothing you tell me will leave this room.”

“Well,” the man, straightening up a bit, losing some of his timid way, “that is certainly good to know.”

He looked up at John again, and suddenly, the doctor felt frightened. He tried to move away from those dark, vicious eyes, but the man had already grabbed his thigh, hard, and pressed him down in to the table so he could lean in. All of John’s training washed away in front of those eyes, erased and replaced with something he could only compare to what he had felt when Sherlock had uttered his command in their home many months ago. With Sherlock, he had wanted it badly, even though the position was degrading. With this man, he wished to be free, and still he was trapped, frozen in place, by those dark eyes.

“I heard,” the man murmured, his breath ghosting only inches from John’s ear, “that you and the prince had a brood.”

He kept moving over John’s body, smelling him, talking in a low, lingering voice.

“I never dreamt they would be so many, though. Has Sherlock told you that most broods only leave one or two children over five? They have...”

He snapped his jaw over John’s neck.

“...accidents.”

He chuckled manically, deep in his chest, as he returned to stare at John. The doctor could not move a muscle. 

“So, either you are extremely well at keeping spawn alive, or...”

Brook flicked John’s nose.

“...mixing our races will create a stronger army than the world have ever seen!”

John tried not to panic. Who was this guy? What did he want with John? He wished he could phone Harriet and tell them to get the kids to safety, to call Mycroft. 

“I bet you are thinking “why me?”, right now aren’t you?” Brook said. 

He picked up a stick of gum and started chewing.

“Want some?” he asked John’s frozen form. “No? Suit yourself.”

He chewed a little more. The office was still. John wished he could reach his intercom, call his secretary, call anyone.

“So, really, why you, John Watson?”

The intense look was back, staring him down, petrifying him.

“I bet you think you are like everybody else, don’t you?” Brook continued. “Isn’t that right? That there is nothing unique about you at all? And well, you are right for the most part. You are mostly, at 99 percent, a nobody, just like every other stinking monkey on this planet. You do however, possess something very few have, Johnny boy. No other human, that I know of, have ever carried a brood full term. Imagine that. You should feel proud, really.”

The dark haired man nodded, like he hoped John would nod with him. When he didn’t, he sighed.

“I even did research into the Mormons, and there was just a bunch of incest, none of our kind involved. But I could see him in your brood, so I knew it had worked.” 

John’s heart was beating faster by the second, piecing the puzzle together. This man was an alien like Sherlock and Mycroft. Not the same side, though. And he was talking about broods, and he knew John had given birth to a lot of their babies...

“Yes, I can see you understand, monkey,” the man said, grinning broadly. “Now, we are going to walk out of here, and if I hear anything, I will blow your house and all of that miserable prince’s brood up.”

John knew he couldn’t risk it. Any number of kids could be home, and Harriet. 

The tension around his jaw disappeared.

“If I leave with you, will you stay away from the others?” John said, his voice low.

“Yes, of course. I have no need for them,” Brook shrugged.

“Then I’ll come with you.” 

Brook smiled, like he had been given news the weather might be good next weekend. 

“Very good, John,” he said. “You know, when I heard you were ex-military, I thought this was going to be much harder.”

John gasped as the tension in his limbs vanished. He needed to get away, he needed to contact Harriet, and the children, Mycroft and Sherlock.

“Just walk straight out and do not talk to anyone.”

John fisted his hands, and opened the door.

“Dr Watson,” his secretary said as he walked past her. He moved right ahead, not looking back, maybe, just maybe walking a bit to slow. He reached up to turn the handle tor the front door. 

“Dr Watson, wait!” he heard, just as the door opened.

He shot Brook a look, and the man rolled his eyes.

“Ms Calvin?” John asked, politely.

“Where are you going?” 

“Oh, I just need to escort mr Brook here to his car.”

“Oh, I see. Will you be long?”

“Not at all. Anything else?”

Please let it be something else, John begged.

“Your sister called, said she was making pancakes.”

John blinked. 

“Send her my thanks, and that I might invite aunt Lynn for dinner.”

“Aunt Lynn, I’ll tell her, Dr Watson.”

“Thank you, miss Calvin.”

It was all he could do right now, John thought as he stepped into the car and they drove off. 

~ooo~

“He said he was inviting some aunt?”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any aunts.”

“The way he said it, right before he disappeared... I think it meant something.”

Harriet sighed, rubbing her forehead. There was no way she could handle the kids on her own.

“Did he say anything else?” she tried again.

“No, sorry,” the secretary said.

Harriet smiled politely and left the clinic. There were still some police cars, but most of the media and firetrucks had driven off. It had been five hours since John’s disappearance, if the secretary had gotten the time right. All the patients had given different times, almost like they had been mislead. She sighed as she got into her car and drove back to the house. The kids flocked around her and she suddenly felt a bit weak at the knees. Her phone lit up, it was the secretary again. 

“Aunt Lynn,” it said, and after that, “Does it make sense?”

“No,” Harriet texted back, throwing the phone on the kitchen table.

Aunt Lynn? They had had an aunt once, her and John. She had been a real globetrotter, until being kidnapped in Ecuador and never heard from again. Harriet didn’t even remember her name. Aunt Lynn... She mulled it over in her head, again and again. An aunt and Lynn... Aunt Lynn... A Lynn... Alien?

She dropped the pancake bowl, batter flying everywhere, and waded through the excited children over to the phone list on the wall.

“Mycroft, Mycroft...” she said out loud as she dragged her finger across the paper.

The call was answered after exactly one ring.

“Hello?” a rich, woman’s voice said. 

“Hello, I’m looking for Mycroft.”

“I’m sorry, you must have miscalled,” the woman explained, hanging up.

Harriet looked at her phone in disbelief. Had she called the wrong number?

“Hello?” the woman said again when Harriet called.

“Hello, it’s me again!”

“Who?”

“I’m looking for Mycroft, it’s important.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no Mycroft here.”

On the third call, Harriet was furious.

“Hello?”

“My name is Harry Watson, and my brother, John Watson, is missing. Now I don’t know why you are, and who Mycroft is, but I was told I could call this number in case of emergency, and now it is a fucking emergency!”

The other end was quiet for a long time, so long that Harriet almost felt ashamed for yelling.

“Hello?” Harriet said.

“I’m sorry, you must have miscalled, there is none by the name of Mycroft here.”

There was an audible click this time. Harriet growled in frustration.

“Auntie, pancakes!”

She looked over at the little ones, standing in batter, licking it off the dishwasher and the cabins, trying to salvage all that was left.

“Yeah, let’s make some pancakes,” she said, heaving herself up.

She started mixing up another bowl, but twenty minutes later, there were headlights outside, glaring through the windows. Some of the kids groaned and others walked off into the living room.

“It’s Mycroft,” Sandra huffed.

“He’s nothing like you,” Anna added.

“He’s tall and fat,” André exclaimed, and all of them giggled, some of them toppling over.

“That’s rude,” Harriet told them, “I’m sure he can’t be all bad.”

There was a knock on the door. 

“Go open the door, guys,” she said and Martin reluctantly went.

“Afternoon, uncle,” he said, and a tall, well-dressed man stepped inside, his nostrils widened as though he smelled something foul.

“Ah,” he said as he spotted her among the kids, “you must be Harry.”

“Yes, and you must be Mycroft.”

“Excellent observation,” he said, his thin lips smiling, making him look even more disgusted. “So, missing, this brother of yours?”

Her heart immediately started pounding faster.

“Children, go upstairs,” Harriet said, afraid for what they might hear.

She kept making pancakes as she sent them off and talked to the alien government official.

“Got any leads?” she asked.

“I don’t do investigations,” he said, brushing off a chair carefully before sitting down, careful no to touch anything else.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “You have any idea who took my brother?”

“I might have an inkling,” Mycroft said, choosing his words carefully. “How much has your brother told you about our people?”

“He didn’t tell me much,” Harriet shrugged. “I think he thought it was too weird, even for me.”

“Well, prepare for a crash course,” Mycroft said, smiling maliciously. “We are amphibians, we procreate in stages, where the first stage is gestation inside the body and the other is as small fry which for a while still has access to their progenitor, as long as they don’t grow too big.”

“I see,” Harriet said, trying to understand.

“I have understood that it is incredibly uncommon for a monkey...”

“...human...” she corrected him, adding more batter to the pan and twirling it around.

“...fine, human, to be able to gestate and keep our young alive, especially in that first phase. I looked into it, and Dr Watson’s and my brother’s case is, dare I say it, singular. Maybe it has something to do with your brother, most likely it is my brother’s royal genome, but either way, it is unprecedented.”

“What does this has to do with the kidnapping?”

“Oh Harry, and things were going so well...” Mycroft sighed. “We can’t of course be totally sure, but my best guess is, this kidnapper want to use your brother as a breeder, to spawn a new army, and take over our planet.

Harriet stared at him, waiting for Mycroft to start laughing, tell her it was all a joke, “Smile, you’re on Candid Camera!”, anything. 

“You have got to be kidding,” she gasped.

“Oh, on the contrary,” Mycroft said. “I would never kid about the safety of my homeland, ms Watson.”

The batter was all used up and the tower of pancakes smelled wonderful, but Harriet suddenly felt ill. 

“A breeder?” she asked, sitting down. “To make... an army?”

She couldn’t think of a worse fate for John, how much he had hated the war, the death, the destruction.

“We need to get him away from them,” she said. 

“Trust me, ms Watson, when I’m telling you, I’m doing everything in my power to locate him."

Harriet snorted.

“And what, exactly, is that, Mycroft?” she spat. “As I understood, you are some sort of minor adviser to the king. How are you meant to find my brother?”

Mycroft’s mouth was a thin line, and Harriet realized she might have hurt him. She didn’t care.

“While we have been sitting here, your brother might already be across the globe, or even worse, on his way to my planet. I suggest we don’t waste anymore time insulting each other.”

Sherlock’s brother rose to leave.

“I’m sorry, Mycroft,” Harriet said. “I did not mean to diminish you. Please, if you can... find my brother.”

Mycroft just gave her a little nod and stepped out the door. His car was black as night, and a woman stepped out as he opened the back seat door.

“Help them as best you can, Anthea, my dear,” he said, and then he sat down in the same spot she had been, leaving the dark haired woman on the drive.

“Hello,” she said as she walked closer to the porch. “I’m Anthea.”

It was the woman she had talked to on the phone. Harriet felt a sudden blush rise as she shook her hand.

“Harry,” she said. 

“I know,” Anthea said, her smile gentle as she walked into the house. 

She moved as though she had been there a hundred times before. Harriet immediately felt awkward around her. She gathered herself only as she saw the kids peering at them from the living room, and called on them.

“Children, this is aunt Anthea...”

“...you don’t mind that I call you aunt, do you?”

“Not at all.”

“...and she is going to stay here for a while, apparently...”

“...for how long?”

“As long as I’m needed.”

“... you hear that, as long as she’s needed, okay?”

Harriet was blushing again, her voice too high for her own ears, but she couldn’t think about what that meant right now. The kids giggled at her nervous movements and she cleared her throat.

“Alright, dinner time!”

Everybody had a plate and everybody got a pancake with jam and cream each. Harriet didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, a couple of hours later, everyone was tuckered out all over the in the big house. Anthea and Harriet moved through the house like guardians, cleaning up empty plates and making sure everyone had a blanket over them.

Harriet brewed some tea and Anthea came to sit with her, letting some of her poise of efficiency fall away. 

“What a day,” she sighed. “I’ll never say mothers have it easy again.”

“Most mothers doesn’t have this many to care for.”

“That’s true,” she smiled. 

Somewhere outside, a owl screeched. Anthea jumped a little, her eyes widening.

“What was that?”

“An owl,” Harriet said, shrugging. “Stay long enough, you’ll get used to them.”

“If you say so,” Anthea said, and took a sip of her tea.

Not long after that, she yawned.

“What are the grown up sleeping arrangements here?” the assistant asked.

“Usually, Sherlock and John has the master bedroom,” Harriet answered, "and after Sherlock left, John slept there by himself. Now I don’t know...”

She didn’t mean to tear up, but she did, and apologized profusely to Anthea, who only looked concerned and understanding.

“It’s just not on the agenda, as a big sister worrying about your brother,” Harriet sniveled, keeping her voice down so the children wouldn’t hear. “I mean, Mycroft said he thought they were going to breed him. Breed. Like livestock. To make some kind of more resilient armies.”

"Sweetie, it's going to be alright..."

Anthea held her, stroking her hair, murmuring softly, and at some point, they got up the stairs, and into the master bedroom, Anthea still holding her, planting soft kisses over her face and wiping away her tears, and when she stopped crying, Harriet was so tired she promptly fell asleep, feeling warm and safe.

Anthea watched the sleeping form in the bed before undressing to her t-shirt and slipping back into bed with her new housemate, pulling the covers over them both.

“Good night, Harry Watson,” she hummed and flicked off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this to your liking? Leave a kudos<3, a bookmark, or a comment.


	7. Waterplanet Numhorr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock back on his homeplanet, Numhorr, fighting the Enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is sort of an intermission... General Hooper is in it, so that's something I guess?

The first months of coming back to his court was a blur of banquets, smiling faces and whispered suggestions. Dresses, jewelry and exquisite foods were available at all times. Sherlock hated every minute of it.

“Do try to seem like you are enjoying it, brother dear,” Mycroft murmured at him at the thirty first party held in his honor.

“Why?” Sherlock replied, a sugar sweet and utterly dead smile pinned to his face.

“Because...”

Then some low grade weasel wanted to tell him how much he adored him, and Sherlock could only roll his eyes and let himself be whisked away.

The really interesting part was when he (finally!) got kidnapped and finally could find some real answers about his kingdom and what had actually happened. The abductors made sure the waters around him was red with blood, but he could read them, the questions he asked his guards made him reveal more about they wanted, and it was more productive than the months at court.

After Mycroft “saved” him, he asked to be sent to the fronts, to rally the troops, to instill fear in the enemy, whatever as long as he could keep from the boring sights of the banquets. Being there made him feel useful, he could conspire against the enemy, and that made him feel better. 

“Prince Sherlock!”

Sherlock looked up briskly as his general entered the cave they camped out in. The female looked haggard, like she had swam for a great distance.

“At ease,” he said, and watched her relieved face as her children emerged from her orifices, into the water around them. 

“What news from the front?” he asked, not bothering to hide his tense muscles as the action reminded him of his own family.

“The forces are at a stale, my prince,” she announced, young hovering around her face. “It seems your cunning plan has thwarted their efforts.”

Sherlock nodded, looking back into his documents. They might have been stopped for now, but for the forces to be defeated he still had much to do before he was able to...

“Permission to speak, my lord?”

“Oh,” Sherlock said, he had already forgotten she was there. “Of course.”

“You do not seem pleased,” she said, “and it makes me worried.”

“Don’t be,” Sherlock said, smiling what he hoped was a encouraging smile. “Everything is going to my plan.” 

“Then what, my prince, is the problem? We should be celebrating, should we not?”

Sherlock looked at the general for a long time. They had grown up together, fought together, sister brooded, her place had always been at his side. Now he looked at her, her blue gray eyes, the tightly braided brown hair, her brood like an aura around her.

“Have they told you, about what I did in my absence?” he asked.

“You traveled to another planet,” she answered, “something most of us only dream of.”

“Nothing else?”

“I don’t listen to rumors, my lord.”

“Um, very wise of you, general Hooper.”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

“I met an alien,” Sherlock said, “and I fell in love with him.”

“With the alien?” she gasped, fascinated.

“Yes, and we had a brood together.”

“You did? That sounds wonderful.”

“It was.”

She smiled at him, before remembering who she was talking to, and gathered herself a little.

“Did you leave them on the foreign planet, my lord?”

“Yes, and I intend to go back, general, as soon as this war is over.”

“Oh,” she said, “that’s good. Really good.”

He nodded as well. 

“If that would be all, I have to tend to my own.”

“Of course, general.”

She turned to leave.

“General? Where is your mate?”

“He died, my lord, at the front, a couple of days after our mating.”

“Had you known him long?”

“No, he was from a brood far from here.”

“I see. Good genetic material?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be set with less challenging tasks as long as they are smaller?” 

“No, I like to feel useful, my lord.”

“Very well, continue.”

“Afternoon, my prince.”

“Best of luck, general.”

Sherlock watched her go and how the brood clung to her, and couldn’t help but feeling a stab in his heart at the thought of John back at their house, with the children around him. He couldn’t wait to get back to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next is John in the hands of Moriarty! So, look out for that<3


	8. Bred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has been kidnapped by Moriarty and made to be bred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I hate writing stuff like this, but I need to get out how twisted Moriarty is.
> 
> This chapter is #tw: rape, so if you have a problem with it, skip.

The first thing John got as he stepped out of the car was a smelly black bag over his head. Two men joined him and Brook and they forced him into the back of a bigger car, maybe even a van. John couldn’t help feeling disappointed at how cliche it was. They drove for a long time, and everything was silent around them, so his legs had fallen asleep and he had to be dragged into the final dark rooms. When he was finally able to get the smelly bag off, he was shackled to a bed, on his stomach, and efficiently, despite his best efforts, stripped of his trousers and pants. John ground his teeth but didn’t struggle, the threat of what would happen if he didn’t co-operate fresh in his mind. 

“He knows where I live,” he thought as his bare skin met the harsh bare mattress underneath him, “I am protecting all of them...”

The alien entered the room grandiosely, and John felt him in his mind again, a heavy, insane wish to do his bidding, regardless of how revolting he had previously seemed. The other men left and they were alone in the cold bare room. Brook’s steps echoed in the dark as he moved closer to the mattress, and John wasn’t sure if the chill down his spine was because he was naked from the waist down or the uncertainty of what lied ahead.

“Comfortable?” the man looming above him whispered in the stale air.

“No,” John spat, still keeping some of his mind despite his body being frozen on the spot.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Brook snickered as he planted his hand between John’s shoulder blades. “We are going to spend a considerable amount of time together after all. They say compliance is much easier than fighting.”

John didn’t even think that was worthy of a response, but then Brook tugged on his mind and he knew he had to answer. The words did not come easy to him, and it almost felt like he couldn’t get air, black spots dancing in front of his vision.

“Yes, master,” he pressed out, and the pressure disappeared almost instantaneously.

“Very good, little monkey,” Brook purred in his ear, “although, I prefer ‘Moriarty’.”

Images flooded John’s head and he almost choked on his own words as he spat them out. 

“My lord... Moriarty.”

He was another of the aliens after the throne, John should have figured. How could a single one night stand end up with him being caught in some power play with alien royalty? Moriarty’s hand moved lower, following his spine, and John still couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

“I was told your people only have a few orifices, and that the spawn we produce only can go in where I put it. My agents here have done... substantial research on this subject. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, as you are the only one we know capable of maintaining a brood.”

“Fuck you,” John said, and hissed as his air supply got cut off again.

“In due time,” Moriarty said, a smile in his low voice, as he reached back to cup John’s tense buttocks. “Now, I want you to relax, and enjoy this.”

The change was almost immediate. It was suddenly as though John had always wanted Moriarty, as though this encounter had been long anticipated. John could only pant and whine as he felt Moriarty’s fingers enter him, his body not knowing what to do.

“Relax,” the alien said again, and John immediately relaxed, pliant under the caress of the alien.

“That’s it, John,” the voice behind him said, the fingers inside him reaching further and further, adding more girth, working him open. Since his pregnancy had made it easy for him to relax his body at will, it wasn’t hard for him to accept the breech, and he moaned as the alien brushed past his sensitive area. 

“Spit on my fingers,” Moriarty demanded, and John readily complied. “On your knees, come on, there’s a good monkey.”

John sluggishly heaving himself up on his hands and knees. Moriarty chuckled behind him as he grabbed his sides, and John didn’t understand why, only that he had wanted this, that this was his choice. He felt the blunt tip against his ass and it became harder to breathe as the alien slowly pressed his length inside him. It was painful, but John didn’t clench, didn’t do anything. As Moriarty implanted his eggs, John thought about the many tadpoles that would once again grow inside him, that would become the army to defeat it’s own half brother’s and sisters on a planet he had never been on. The alien had his face on his neck now, sheated inside him, his other hand around John’s member, which, like everything else, was hard because he wanted it. John knew he felt what Moriarty was feeling, triumph shooting through his mind like blunt knives.

“I need this too,” the alien murmured in his ear as he circled the tip of John’s cock. 

The climax, moment’s later, sent almost painful streaks of pleasure down John’s legs and up his spine, as Moriarty gathered his come in his hands and pulled out to coat his member with it. The slapping sound that followed echoed in the cold room, and John moaned as he was stretched again.

When Moriarty pulled out and called for his men, John felt strangely disappointed, but the men only came to turn him on his back. They left, and Moriarty climbed on top of him again, the dark obscuring his features. John opened his wet eyes (why was he crying?), and tried to get a glimpse of his captor. His body was still relaxed, his cock half hard again, because Moriarty wanted it, and John thought about his first time with Sherlock. He thought of their children, and he almost remembered something else, something dark and wrong, until Moriarty slapped him, hard.

“You will not think of that low life when you are with the real king!” he shouted, fury in his voice, in the way he grabbed John’s head and shoved it against the concrete floor. John’s head pounded, the scent of blood filled his nostrils, and the dark thoughts almost came back, that maybe this man wasn’t the love of his life after all. Then the hands were back, gentler, Moriarty’s voice apologetic.

“Sorry, where are my manners? That is no way to treat a mate.”

A second later, John climaxed again, his cum pooling on his stomach. Moriarty scooped it up and fed John his own seed, making cooing sounds. 

“There you go, good job,” his captor praised him before he shoved his cock past John’s lips. 

John felt a little ill at first, he couldn’t breathe, but he could only moan as the member hit the roof of his mouth and moved further down. He couldn’t remember why he had agreed to this, but he had to do it, he wanted to do it... As he started sucking, Moriarty let out a surprised sound of pleasure.

“So soon, monkey? I can see why he likes you...”

“Who?” John wanted to ask, but his head was spinning from air loss as more eggs streamed from Moriarty down his throat, filling his insides. 

John felt disappointed yet again, even though thankful for breathing freely, as Moriarty slipped out of his mouth. He felt tired and sore, but still, when the alien reaced for him again, his lust flared, as his abused penis twitched. He felt Moriarty press their tips together and fill his urethra up, the sensation making him moan. 

“Good job, breeder,” Moriarty said, “and I’m for one is glad that is over.”

“Master,” John choked, panicking, “don’t go, I need you...”

“You might as well believe that you do,” Moriarty chuckled. “Makes you more manageable.”

The alien called for his men again. 

“I have some things to attend. Call the others and put him in the tank.”

“Lord Moriarty,” John whined.

He didn’t know why he was punished, he just wanted the man close to him, and he was denied him. 

“Don’t worry John, I’ll come back in time to see our brood be born.”

John slumped and nodded. 

“Yes master,” he answered.

“Good boy,” Moriarty smiled and left. 

As soon as he was out of the room, John’s mind returned to him. He froze, sick to his guts, but didn’t have time to make himself puke before a needle was inserted into his arm and blissful darkness took him.

When he came to over the course of the following days, the few times when he was allowed, John found himself floating in a round tank, almost like a pool for children but big enough for him to lay in. His arms and legs was stuffed with i.v.’s and monitors, some of which he recognized and others that he didn’t. His mind was hazy so he guessed he was drugged to keep him from escaping. The people around him pulled him up so he could eat and walk around for a few hours each day before putting him back in the tank. John’s stomach grew larger and larger, and he wasn’t taken off the drugs until a week later, his stomach plump and ready. The people guarding him shot him odd glances, no doubt waiting for him to give birth. He dreaded the moment, not because he liked it but because he didn’t want them to watch him give birth to their armies. He hadn’t felt them move as Moriarty arrived to watch him, taking over his mind as soon as he walked inside the room. John felt his own will melt away, replaced with only a fierce desire to be mated to the alien in front of him.

“Master,” he breathed, standing at the edge of the tank, looking down on the father of his brood. 

“Monkey,” Moriarty dismissed him as he walked past, and John purred at the recognition. 

Soon after he felt his insides churn, and knew the labor was starting. He walked back in the warm water, holding his naked body, as green liquid flowed out of him, coloring the water. Over the first cramping, he heard the others call for Moriarty, and he hoped they would rob him of his mind so he wouldn’t have to spill his guts in front of them. A moment later, he braced himself as the first brood flowed out of his ass, he panted as the tadpoles swam out of him. Panting from the involuntary arousal, he felt the momentary sickness before throwing up more children, coughing and spitting as they all wanted to come out of him. He couldn’t believe he was doing this again, or how good it felt, his whole body shivering as he came untouched, more children pushing their way out of his urethra. The aliens around him watched him quietly as he became empty, as he panted and pushed until every single one was out, a veritable cloud of purple tadpoles all around him. When he was done, some even applauded.

“Quiet!” Moriarty shrieked. “Get him out of there and prepare him for another session.”

“Sir, they will not make it long without him...”

“We will put him back in with them when I’m done with him,” Moriarty growled.

John began to protest as they pulled him out of the water, but Moriarty took over his mind again, and he immediately forgot he had any children. He felt so tired and sore, but he still fought himself back up to his hands and knees when Moriarty forced him.

“I like this, so wet and open from giving birth to my brood,” the alien purred, and John was once again filled with eggs and sperm. 

When John was lowered into the tank again, his children pressed inside him, and he didn’t have the energy to even resist it. Stuffed with sperm, eggs and tadpoles, his mind wandered, and he wondered if he would survive long enough to ever see Sherlock again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better things to come!


	9. Return to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang finds John, and someone comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sort of intermission again, but the next chapter is back to John again!

“The good news is that I found him.”

Mycroft’s voice was low, his brow furrowed. The children were all upstairs, asleep, and the two human women and the alien were huddled around the kitchen table, three untouched cups of tea forgotten between them. Harriet tried to contain her joy at the news, but didn’t understand why Anthea and Mycroft looked so concerned.

“Why the long faces?” she said, reaching out to grab Mycroft’s hand. “You found John. That’s wonderful. Thank you!”

“I found him, Harry, but...”

Mycroft slowly moved his hand away from hers. 

“...don’t thank me yet.”

Harriet felt her stomach drop at his careful wording. Anthea reached out to squeeze her shoulder gently. 

“What does that mean?” Anthea asked, carefully.

“It means,” Mycroft sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that I don’t know in what state he’s going to be. My spy inside the facilities he is kept was recently found out and disposed of, but not until after confirming that it was in fact where John Watson is being held.”

Mycroft looked over at Harriet, his hands out in an apologetic gesture.

“He has been bread repeatedly, his mind taken over by the enemy on multiple occations. It’s impossible to say what that has done to him.”

She looked at him, not understanding.

“He means that it might have broken John, being in the hands of that despicable man,” Anthea translated, a disgusted look on her face.

Harriet looked down for a moment, before rising and opening the hallway closet.

“And what do you think you are doing?” Mycroft snipped.

“I’m going to save my brother. If you think he’s hurting, the less time he spends in that awful place, the better. Now, tell me where he is.”

“Ms Watson, I can assure you I have my best agents on it as we speak, plotting viable exits, making up a viable strategy...”

“Tell me where he is, and I will help them,” Harriet growled. “He’s my little brother, and he’s kidnapped! I know that if it would happen to Sherlock...”

“If what would happen to Sherlock?” 

The door had opened in the middle of her yelling, and outside stood a skinny tall figure, all dark curls and piercing green eyes.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft breathed. 

Sherlock took a couple of steps into their hallway and just looked quietly at Harriet and her fists gripping her shoes, the paleness of Mycroft’s face, the quiet wariness written all over Anthea. He had traveled at the speed of light to finally be back with John, his children, and now he found the house inhabited by three strangers, though one of them considerably more acceptable than the other two. His voice was horse when he looked over at John’s sister.

“Where is John?” he murmured.

“Sherlock...” Mycroft began anew, but was cut off.

“He’s been kidnapped by some guy,” Harriet blabbed, “but Mycroft knows where he is and so help me, we are going to get him back, right now!”

Sherlock looked at her, expressionless.

“How long has he been gone?”

“Um... maybe, a month?”

The dark haired alien took a deep breath, still not used to the planet’s atmosphere. Then he turned and took a few steps closer to Mycroft. His eyes seemed to born holes into his older brother’s.

“We had contact almost daily and you didn’t think to tell me?” he said, and Harriet could almost feel the waves of tension between them, pressing Mycroft to the floor even without Sherlock touching him. 

“You were busy, I thought it would be a distraction we couldn’t afford,” Mycroft babbled, whimpering now. “I wanted to find him, and it’s true, I have! We can find him right...now...”

Mycroft stilled, unable to speak anymore. Sherlock just stood there, staring him down, until Harriet cleared her throat.

“Hey, listen, guys, aliens, whatever. This won’t help us find my brother faster. Sherlock, hey, Mycroft needs to be conscious if we are going to get to John!”

Sherlock seemed to not have heard her at first, but then he backed off, sitting down at the table, reaching for one of the cold cups of tea as Anthea helped Mycroft to his feet. They all gathered around as Mycroft cleared his throat.

“This is what my intel said...” he began, his voice smooth and only a little bit rough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, leave a kudos<3


	10. John is rescued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is finally rescued from the claws of Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling (I hope!) conclusion.

John felt so weird these days, whenever he remembered to feel. His body always hurt in one way or another. His stomach was always bloated. There was always tadpoles in his mouth, on his skin, in his ass, in his ears, nose and urethra, cramming to get in, competing for space with all it’s younger siblings. It had been manageable with one or two broods, but the third had been a challenge and he could feel the forth growing inside, soon ready to get out. 

He wasn’t sure why they grew faster than the first pregnancy he had, but knowing something about the man who impregnated him, the tubes attached to him probably contained some kind of growth hormone or other accelerator unknown to him. All he knew was that whenever they were spooked he felt like he was going to break into tiny pieces as they all tried to wiggle inside him at once.

John had kind of gotten used to the assault on his mind as well now, which told him Moriarty was close. He had come to like those moments, as it meant that the ache in his stretched body melted away for a while and replaced with only a will to serve and become whatever Moriarty wanted him to be. He always felt bad afterwards, but by then he was drugged again, stuffed with babies, floating and sleeping and feeling nothing but a nagging feeling in the back of his head that something was very wrong.

He didn’t count the days, anymore, he just slept and let everyone do as they wished with him. He missed Sherlock. He knew he was weak, that he was skinny, that the pregnancies took their toll, that he couldn’t walk that far before his knees gave out and he had to be put back in the tank. That the people in white coats looked at him worriedly and said things to him as he shuffled the food around his plates. That some of the tubes were nutrients. He knew, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“At least there won’t be much of an army,” he thought when he was able to think. 

He felt like he was dissolving into the water, floating, sleeping, one with the universe. 

And suddenly, he wasn’t anymore. He was stuffed as all tadpoles pressed inside him, and then lifted out of the tank. There were sharp, urgent noises, gunshots, he realized, and he shivered, because why were they shooting, and he felt so ill, standing up with all that weight inside him, all his children, wiggling, tightly inside. Someone called his name, or it was more like a cry, and it sounded like Harriet, but she would never sound like that, so sad. And there was this blanket around him, someone had his arms around him, and was carrying him, and John wanted to warn them not to hug him too tightly, and the person holding him somehow understood. Orders were barked and somehow he was pulled into something soft and quiet, away from the fire. 

“It’s okay John, it’s okay,” a voice said, humming in the chest next to him, and god, it was the most soothing sound John had ever heard, and through the haze he finally realized who held him.

“Sherlock,” he gasped, and then he cried, “you came back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

John was so happy, and also so nauseated.

“I need to let them out,” he whined, “Sherlock, they are too many.”

“Yes, love, we are there soon, hold on, breathe.”

John could hear the slight tremor in Sherlock’s voice. Lights flickered past them.

“Where are we going?” John asked without moving his lips.

“A sort of hospital Mycroft set up for our kind,” Sherlock said, as the car came to a halt.

He carried John inside and lowered him into another pool. The lights were dimmer and the water was clean. John let all the tadpoles out, hissing and groaning as the new ones still wasn’t mature enough. He felt horrible now, for letting Sherlock see him pregnant with another alien’s children, and looked back at him quickly. Sherlock didn’t look anything but sad, though. 

“I’m so sorry this happened to you John,” he whispered to not scare the tadpoles. “I wish I never went away.”

“Yeah, well,” John mumbled, “you are here now.”

Still groggy, he reached up to kiss him. Sherlock held him, but seemed reluctant to deepen the kiss.

“John, are you sure you should? You are still weak.”

“I’m sure, Sherlock...”

“Moriarty!”

The scream pierced the veil of intimacy between them and John looked to see where the sound was coming from. A second later he realized his arms were not swung around the shoulders of Sherlock, but of Moriarty. The real Sherlock stood at the door, fury written all across his face. 

“Sherl-” John managed, and then Moriarty pushed his head down under the surface of the water, all the tadpoles filling him, his arms too weak to fight it.

“John,” Sherlock voice reached him, “you are not too weak, you can fight him, please John, fight him!”

John tried again, tried to break through the fog, tried to listen to Sherlock. He had been captured. Everything had been a lie. He might have given up right then and there, if it weren’t for the fact that somewhere close, his Sherlock, his actual Sherlock, had told him to fight. 

The way he heaved himself up out of the water surprised him, clearly he wasn’t as weak as Moriarty had made him think he was. The man, no longer sounding like Sherlock, was wrestling his boyfriend, and John watched in both fear and awe as he finally caught a glimpse of the real item.

“Sherlock!” he roared, and he could feel him, his attention, for just a second, before Moriarty got the upper hand. 

John watched in horror as Sherlock tumbled over and lay still. The other alien gathered himself for a second, straightened his tie, dragged a hand across his hair, before turning to the pregnant human with a grin. 

“Even easier than I thought,” he smiled, almost giggled.

He moved closer to the tank, looking more malicious when seeing how shocked John was.

“Oh, don’t take it so hard, monkey. You are mine now, and that you shall remain.”

Moriarty was close enough, his white teeth grinning, and John turned his eyes from Sherlock’s unmoving body to look at the face of his captor. An uncharacteristic, bottomless rage filled him, and he didn’t care about the tadpoles, or his supposed weakness, he just curled his body up and jumped. Moriarty was either too weak from the earlier fight or honestly didn’t think John had it in him, because he didn’t stand a chance. John landed on his chest, his knees cracking the dark haired man's ribs, and John's weight made Moriarty fall backwards. 

The army doctor had already delivered the first punch before they hit the ground. 

Maybe Moriarty tried to defend himself mentally, but the link that made him able to control John’s actions were severed, and John was making up for lost time. He didn’t stop when he felt the alien's skin break, or dark blood wetting his knuckles. He just kept hitting, punishing him for everything he’d done to John, to their family, for what he had made them go through, for tricking him into thinking he had been Sherlock.

“John,” he heard Sherlock, the real one, say. 

John didn’t stop, couldn’t stop.

“John, it’s over.”

If he stopped, he would have to deal with what had happened.

“John.”

Strong arms embraced him, feeling just right, but he didn’t pause to look, because looking meant relaxing, meant thinking about...

“No,” he breathed, digging in his fingers, holding on to Moriarty’s lifeless body, “no no no no...”

“John, I’m here,” Sherlock murmured in his ear, and John slowly stilled, breathing out.

He let his naked body be pulled into the arms of the man he loved the most in the world, and watched a couple of men in black suits carry the lifeless body of Moriarty away.

“John,” Sherlock said again.

John put a hand on his stomach. He had been pregnant just a couple of minutes ago. Now his stomach was flat. He looked back at the tank. It was empty, not full of three sets of rapidly growing broods. He stiffened and stood up, his taxed body shivering.

“There was...”

He looked at Sherlock, for the first time, in panic.

“I was pregnant.”

Sherlock looked between him and the tank.

“John,” he said, pain in his voice, “it was all part of Moriarty’s scheme. Insurance so you wouldn’t try to escape. By the looks of what we found, he couldn’t...”

Sherlock turned silent for a moment.

“It didn’t work, John. I was just making you think that he had found a way to make you have his children.”

John touched his flat belly. He felt relieved and ashamed at the same time.

“You sure?” he said, and tried to hide the tears filling his eyes.

“I’m sure John,” Sherlock said, smiling a little, though his eyes still looked sad.

John stared at him. It was too much, and he felt so tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. 

“I want to go home,” he said in a small, exhausted voice.

“Me too.”

Sherlock caught him as John moved, almost fell into his alien’s embrace. It was exactly where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a epilogue. If you like this leave a kudos<3


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter you guys!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around, tell me if you liked the story either by commenting or on my other social media: 
> 
> Tumblr @saltvattenshar
> 
> Twitter @saltwaterhair
> 
> All the best :*

“Is he asleep?” Harriet asked as Sherlock made his way down the stairs.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, suppressing a jawn. 

“You can go back to him soon,” Mycroft promised him. “We just need to figure out how much we can tell him.”

“He can’t ever know about the other tanks,” Sherlock hissed.

“No one is saying...” 

“Then that’s that.”

“I don’t know, Sherlock,” Harriet said. “He has to know it wasn’t all a dream, I mean, he can see the stretch marks of the pregnancies.”

Sherlock’s eyes darkened. 

“He is too fragile. You didn’t see him in that room, the panic when I told him about how Moriarty tricked him. He thought he was giving birth to viable, living...”

Sherlock’s voice faltered. Harriet looked at him and nodded. 

“Alright, I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock murmured.

Mycroft and Anthea nodded.

“If you don’t mind,” Anthea added, “we would like to stay here, for a while, until you are back on your feet.”

She sat very close to Harriet as she nodded over at Mycroft. 

“I know you can’t stand me, and know that the feeling is mutual, dear brother,” the older alien intoned, “but it seems my assistant is rather fond of the arrangement we decided on when John was abducted, and frankly, I’d like to help, in any way I can.”

Sherlock looked like he was going to snort at Mycroft at first, but then changed his mind.

“I...,” he said. “Thank you.”

Mycroft smiled, more genuinely than Harriet had ever seen him.

“My pleasure, little brother.”

~ooo~

“Daddy!” 

Meeting the children again was the best and most moving thing John had ever experienced.

“Daddy, I made you a drawing!”

“Daddy, are you both going to be home now?”

“Daddy, hug me!”

“No, hug me first!”

“I want to hug you too!”

After delivering what felt like a million hugs, Harriet said “Daddy’s tired, he’s been through a lot, let’s go hug papa for a second and let him rest”, and miraculously, they all listened. John slung a blanket over his shoulders and went to sit outside for a moment, tears flowing freely over his face, the joy from knowing he was home all mixed up in the stress and sadness of what had happened to him. Olivia found him like that and was brave enough to crawl up on his lap to hug him.

“It’s going to be okay, daddy,” she said, mimicking what he used to say when she had a boo boo and needed comforting. “It’s going to hurt less soon.”

“Yeah, thanks darling,” John said, patting her dark hair, trying to smile. “Go hug your papa from me.”

She jumped down and gave him a look. 

“You are going to be okay,” she said again. “Sometimes it just takes a while.”

“Yeah,” John said. 

She smiled and went inside. He marveled, for a second, that him and Sherlock had produced something so wonderful. When Harriet came back to check on him, he was already feeling a little more whole.

“Me and Anthea are going to take them to play by the water, maybe do some fishing,” she said. 

His sister sat down for a moment. 

“Thanks for taking care of them,” John said. “I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“I had help,” she grinned. “And they are lovely, honestly no trouble.”

“Yeah, right.”

Harriet smiled, looking rosy and happy.

“So, how are things going with Anthea?”

His sister blushed.

“There is nothing going on with Anthea,” she said. “We are just friends.”

“She seems really nice,” John smiled.

“Yeah... She is.”

“Harry?”

Anthea popped her head out.

“Ready to go?” 

“Yes!”

Mycroft stepped out on the porch, his normal, dapper attire switched to rubber boots, camouflage pants and a green fishing hat. He looked so out of his element John couldn’t help but smile at him.

“I’m glad to see your delight with my appearance,” Mycroft said.

John just looked at him, amused.

“Can we go?” Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock stepped out too to wave them off, and then sat down next to John as the silence spread around them.

“It’s good to be home,” John said, tucking the blanket closer around him. 

Sherlock carefully laid an arm around him.

“Did you win the war?” John asked.

“I did,” Sherlock said, leaning his temple at the top of John’s head. “I made a parliament with half of my people and half of theirs, elected by the rest of the population. I set up some ground rules and made myself the final judge, a position that will eventually be rendered obsolete. I will forever be known as the king that brought peace to our planet, but I guess I can live with that.”

“Sounds good,” John said, snuggling closer.

“Moriarty was part of those enemies turned allies. I thought you should know that he’s dead.”

John stiffened.

“Did I...”

“No, you didn’t kill him, though not from a lack of effort. No, he was lynched by his own men upon arriving back in his homeland for medical care. Apparently they weren’t too happy with him abandoning them in his country’s greatest hour of need.”

“Huh.”

“I need to go back once in a while, John, but I think the new parliament will have a far more open view of you and me in the new light of what’s happened, and accept all of us as children of both worlds.”

“That sounds nice,” John said and relaxed against Sherlock again.

~ooo~

“You don’t touch me anymore,” John complained one evening as they were going to bed, the children, Harriet and Anthea was sleeping and Mycroft was away on interplanetary business.

“That’s not true,” Sherlock said, mockingly offended.

“Yes it is,” John pouted. “I mean, you touch me like I’m going to break, and I assure you, I will not.”

Sherlock smiled a little, but weren’t able to completely mask his concern. 

“I know you won’t,” the alien murmured.

John was almost deterred, but Sherlock was on him a second later, his nose only inches away from his human’s face. Sherlock kissed him ravenously, longingly, like he needed John more than he needed air. John didn’t realize how much he had missed him before he did that, and now he returned the enthusiasm ferociously, lowing the way their bodies touched, how warm he felt against Sherlock’s skin. He had worried that he might not be able to distinguish between the pretending he had experienced while in Moriarty’s hands and Sherlock, that he would have flashbacks, but now he knew that it would never be the same, and he made up for it by sucking on Sherlock’s neck, kissing his ears, breathe in the scent of his skin and hair, something Moriarty had never been able to reproduce fully. John felt care free, whole and present, and he couldn’t keep from making little happy noises as he turned to pin his alien boyfriend under him, watching his dark curls and green hooded eyes follow him. 

“I love you so much,” John said.

“I love you too,” Sherlock breathed and reached up to kiss him.

~ooo~

“Again?!” Harriet shouted.

John looked up at Sherlock and grinned.

“Seems that way.”

“You are like a pair of rabbits, you two. How are they all going to fit?” 

“Mycroft has graciously accepted to set up some housing for us, he found this old school...”

“Where?” 

“In town somewhere, I think.”

“Oh, nice!” 

Harriet laughed.

“I might have a social life again. Now, let’s go tell the kids they are going to get a bunch of new little sisters and brothers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, leave a kudos<3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this weird story. 
> 
> If you liked it, leave a kudos<3


End file.
